None of it Belongs
Christopher Stein

Sometimes a person passes by you like an eye rhyme

the sight of their face sends you walking into a telephone pole

your gaze caught somewhere cross-eyed off over your shoulder

and the person like a rhyme comes to you from the gloom

but the voice it’s always the voice that melts illusion into memory

a voice that says but does not see, a voice that

reveals the too-high nose bridge, the too-full upper lip, the freckle below the left eye

none of it belongs